


Bang Bang (My Baby Had to Go)

by Taupefox59



Series: And By "Love" I Meant "Murder" [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: 5 Times Fic, Addiction, Also they're both women, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anders is still Bragi, Britchell, Drug Use, F/F, I mean, I've pretty much scrapped it all, It's like Mr. and Mrs. Smith only less heterosexual and more angsty, Mitchell is still a vampire, Not Canon Compliant, Please ignore vampire lore from Being Human, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, They kill people for a living, mitchers, there is violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mitchers/Britchell Serial Killer Au, in which Anders and Mitchell are cis women.</p><p>Mitchell finds herself at a loss after killing Herrick. Her attempts to get away from the political scene leads to dead ends and frustration. With some help from her flatmates - ever-resourceful ghost Annie and freelance computer specialist George the werewolf, she ends up working as a hired gun: only this time, she's trying to make the world better.</p><p>Anders is the Goddess who ended up as a God. Pulled apart by the pressures of myth, prophecy and family tensions, she learned that the best way to stay out of someone else's sights was to be the one behind the trigger. Together with her secretary/confidant Dawn, she does her best to stay out of god business and under the radar, taking jobs where she never gets noticed, and never has to stay in New Zealand for too long.</p><p>All it takes is a murder, some suspicious circumstances, and a fire-happy god of mischief for their world to collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time They Met

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the really incredible St. Vincent song, which you should absolutely check out. (Especially if you're thinking of the Nancy Sinatra song. Because that's a really good song, but it's definitely not *this* song.)
> 
>    
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UYWSC0_bq8  
>    
> This is un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always appreciated!

The first time they met, they didn’t actually meet.

 

The target was a white man in his mid-fifties, hair kept dark by cheap dye. He knew enough about keeping up appearances to know he needed to wear make-up for public appearances, but he didn’t know enough about make-up to pick a shade that matched his skin. The rings on his fingers were thick and gold, studded with diamonds. His shoes were scuffed patent leather and he was beginning to sweat through his shirt. He was clearly new money. Old money was confident enough to know that a truer judge of wealth was the silk stocking that nobody saw, as opposed to the desperate flash from those who didn’t know any better. Old money also wasn’t afraid to pay to be rid of annoyances, shining brightly out in the periphery.

Mitchell stood in her corner, silently watching. This was going to be easy. The man clearly had no back up. The blonde he was talking to who was clearly more interested in her drink than him. He was insecure, looking for supporters, laughing too loudly at jokes and leaning too far forward to show true interest. He was desperate and hiding it poorly. Just a few words would get him away from the crowd, and then it would be nothing to finish the job.

It was too early in the evening for that yet. Mitchell turned away and went to the Ladies. There was a lot of power at this party, and a girl fixing her hair was invisible. Perhaps there would be gossip worth hearing.

Mitchell was wearing a red dress that fit well enough to inspire second glances, but not so well to draw anything more. She’d pulled most of her hair back, except for a few strands that she’d curled into ringlets and left down to frame her face. She’d lined her eyes with white to make them seem wider and more innocent and plucked away at her dark, heavy brows. She’d picked a pink gloss with a hint of sparkle to it to stain her moth. The last thing she needed tonight was for the target to think her a predator.

  
  


Anders swirled the cherry at the bottom of her Cosmopolitan. She wanted a real drink, but tonight she had to play the role of simpering bimbo. It meant a night coated in sparkles and gloss, nails lacquered to a reflective shine. The worst part was that the job was already done. It hadn’t even been hard. She’d even told him she was slipping something in his drink. Of course, she’d implied that it would make the evening feel better; not end in death, but the point was he asked for it. Now she was just waiting around for it to take action. (She never left a job until she was absolutely certain the mark was dead. If she was ever the villain of a Bond film, she would sit there are watch until that fucker was dead.)

She scoffed. He was pathetic. He was playing at games he clearly wasn’t ready for, and he’d gotten himself killed for it. He had been playing in the deep end when he belonged in the kiddy pool.

Anders scanned the room again. Earlier there had been a gorgeous woman in the corner, tall and classic with dark ringlets, alabaster skin and wide eyes. One thing about these parties is that there was always someone to get off with. Parties hosted by rich fucks were always full of pasta lesbians and women willing to believe that “it didn’t count” if it was with another chick. The woman seemed to have disappeared. Bitch. Figures. Anders wanted a cigarette. Or a line. She sighed. Another drink would have to do. Hopefully the mark would fucking die already.

  
  
  


When Mitchell left came back to the party, the target was seizing on the floor.

  
  


She’d been sniped.

 

 


	2. The Second Time They Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Time They Met...They Didn't Actually Meet.

The second time they met...They didn’t actually meet.

 

The mark was some ex-military officer, who apparently knew too much about the wrong things and was going to have his retirement terminated permanently. However, ex-officer guy had decided to spend his retirement on a private island. She hadn’t asked what he’d done or how he managed to get himself an entire island, because with the number of zeroes on the paycheck, she wasn’t particularly bothered by the details.

She had to admit, she was actually a bit disappointed in the mark. She’d been hoping for a bit more challenge. The security on the island was a joke. It wasn’t even that difficult to get to. There neighbouring spits of land where a person could rent a boat barely kilometres away. The island itself wasn’t protected at all. Granted, there were the usual smatterings of coral reef that one had to watch out for, but there were inlets all along the rocky coastline that were dripping with the broad-leaf tropical plants that tourism guides liked to refer to as “verdant foliage”.

Anders scoffed. Fucking perfect cover was more like it. She didn’t even have to try to find an overhanging tree limb to tie her skiff to. She checked the tide chart. The job should only take a few hours, so she wouldn’t have to leave too much slack in the ropes, and the boat would stay close enough to the tree that she’d be able to drop back into it if she needed to make a quick get away.

She pushed through the thick branches of green as she made her way to the compound. What kind of an idiot was this guy, anyway? If you have a private island, why would you build on the lowest point possible? Not only do you have no vantage point if people are coming for you, but seriously. It’s a tropical island. There are only going to be two seasons: wet season, and ‘we haven’t had a monsoon for a few months, so let’s call it “dry” season’. What kind of a dipshit build builds on the lowest point when they know they’re in for heaps of rain?

Anders wasn’t fussed about whatever this guy had done. He was clearly an idiot, and she would be doing society a favour. And get paid for it. Anders grinned through the mud. This was her favourite kind of job.

  
  


It had been easy enough for Mitchell to get on the island. The target had been advertising for cleaning staff. Apparently he’d made a name for himself with the local populations for being a rather...unsafe option for employment. She’d posed as an over-eager backpacker, and been hired as soon as a boat could be fetched to bring her over.

The target lived alone. He’d been the one to hire her. No one else even knew she’d been there. It was laughably easy. She even had the time to make it look like natural causes.

In, out, and no one even knew she was there.

  
  


Anders reached the compound. It was easy enough to scale a wall, and slip through a window. The house was silent. The only noise came from a lazily swirling ceiling fan. Slowly, Anders started pushing open doorways in the hall.

The mark was sprawled on his bed, tangled in the sheets as if asleep, except for the too-pale tinge to his flesh, and the unmistakable smell of the newly dead.

 

Damnit!

 

 


	3. The Third Time They Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time they met...neither of them quite remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drug abuse and PTSD in this one.

The third time they met… Neither of them quite remember.

 

“Fucking Cardiff.” Mitchell muttered under her breath before tossing back another shot. It was a dark club, filled with flashing lights and pounding music and chemical-smelling fog. The job...had gotten finished, but that was where the good of it ended, really. She shook her head as if the motion could rid her of the spectre of it. The stupid woman was dead now, even if everything had turned to a mess. Mitchell lifted her empty glass, and was rewarded with another shot.

It was supposed to have been clean. The target had been camping. Go in, make the kill, dump the body in the river, where it would be found later and ruled as an accident. It wasn’t meant to get messy. Mitchell emptied the shot glass again, hoping that the burn of alcohol would somehow rid her memory of the taste of iron. She’d ended up having to fake it into looking like an animal attack, which was hardly easy in Wales. It’s not like there were many carnivorous animals around to take the blame. She’d had to make it look like the woman had been gored by a deer. (Which had involved killing a deer as well.)

There was a _reason_ that she didn’t usually take jobs this close to home. Too many, too much. Home was supposed to be safe. Home was the place where she was. Not all the things she’d been, all the things she’d done in the past. She had been in that forest before. With Herrick. Without Herrick. It had to matter. It _had_ to matter that she’d killed him.

Mitchell closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the memory of blood. It had been all over, she could still smell it, the scent clinging heavy to her skin. She hadn’t - _she hadn’t_ , but, fuck, she wanted. She could feel the burning, the itch, growing, filling her up. It wouldn’t take much, just, just a little. To feel, to feel, so good, so clean. Like she could live forever, like she was made of nothing and everything; like she could move her fingers and play the strings of the universe.

She slammed the shot glass back down to the bar. She needed another drink.

  
  


Anders _liked_ this club. She’d finished her job in Iceland. (easy, _so_ easy. Protect the son of the CEO of company doing some nasty things to secure mineral rights. Or something. She didn’t really care why Daddy Dearest had been there. He’d paid her well, and she hadn’t even had to get her hands dirty.

Well. They’d gotten a little dirty, but that’s only because the “boy” in need of protection was twenty-four. If he’d gotten a little bit “hot for teacher” with her, she was hardly going to turn him down.)

Then, instead of hopping onto her flight and being able to drink herself to oblivion and wake up back in New Zealand, there was some kind of airline strike happening. She’d been diverted to Cardiff - _Cardiff_ \- and now she was stuck here for 36 hours.

She’d managed to Bragi her way into getting a presidential suite at the hotel they’d put her up in, and with the amount of complimentary miles they were giving her, she probably wouldn’t have to pay for a flight for an entire year, but it was the principle of the thing. Though, she did have to admit, that fixing an entire labour dispute armed with nothing but Bragi, half an ounce of Ketamine and the desire to just _get the fuck home_ , might have been a little beyond her.

She probably _could_ have, but it would have made her a bit more visible than she liked to be. She preferred to pull the strings from behind the curtains whenever possible.

She was saving her vitamin K for the flight - seriously, _sixteen hours_ , how did anyone manage to do that sober? But the club was serving her well. She’d done a couple lines of...something, earlier, and she was starting feel the comforting swirl of it, edging through her veins. It was good, pulling her up, sharpening the sparkle of the lasers when they caught on the facets of her nearly-empty glass. Tonight she could just give herself over to it. She could do whatever she wanted tonight, and sleep it off on the plane.

The music was loud, and people were _Welsh_ , but they were pleasantly warm when she pressed against them. She danced until her drink was empty, before pushing her way back to the bar for a refill.

 

There was a woman there, gorgeous, tall, and if the array of shots by her was any indication, well on her way to getting trashed. Anders smiled. She’d been thinking of going for a couple more lines tonight, but this would be better.

 

The blonde woman appeared out of the crowd, and slid next to her. Mitchell focused on the empty shot in her hand, ignoring the heartbeat that she could practically feel, pulsing with heat, with life.

“What ya drinking?” The blonde woman asked.

“Why are you asking?” She replied, still refusing to look up.

“Maybe I’d like to join you,” the blonde woman said, “Or, maybe I think you’d taste better than anything they serve here.” There was something about her voice. Mitchell couldn’t place it. It almost seemed to echo, but Mitchell brushed it off. It was probably just shouting over the noise of the music.

Mitchell finally turned to look at her. She was beautiful; short blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, blown wide, maybe from alcohol, probably from something else. Her voice held a twang, vowels all slanting too wide to be British. Mitchell’s first thought was that the woman was from Australia, but there was too much push on long ‘I’’s for it to be anything from a city there. If she had to guess Mitchell would put her from New Zealand. She was perfect. Out of place, on her own, looking for a good time. Mitchell could take her out back, how long before anyone even knew she was missing? Bad things happened to innocent backpackers all the time. No one would ever have to know.

“What if I think we should get out of here?” Mitchell asked

“I happen to have a hotel room just around the corner.” the woman said, smiling brightly. She had straight, white teeth and dimples. Mitchell could only see the pulse in her throat.

“Sounds perfect.”

  
  


Anders smiled. She was on fire today. That had to be the easiest pull she’d had in ages. Tall And Hot grabbed her hand, and led her out of the club. The world shifted with them, bending and blurring, only to snap back like an elastic band when they reached outside. The woman was even beautiful in the harsh greenish glow of the streetlamps; oil-black hair on cream white skin. Her skin was incredible. Anders couldn’t wait to touch it, feel the press of it beneath her fingers. She blinked and they were...somewhere else. Almost to the hotel? She was pretty sure. It was okay if they got lost though. The woman hadn’t let go of her hand and she seemed _really_ strong. Anders built the image of being pressed back against a brick wall while the woman rubbed her off. That would be nice.

 

Oooh. But no. This was her hotel. She was sure. Pretty sure? She must have said so, but she was met with a laugh.

“No. That’s the post office.”

Well. It was pretty post office then.

“Look.” The woman said, “Have you got your room key?”

“Yes!” Anders reached into her bra and slid the card out, holding it up triumphantly. “I’m in room… room five hundred? The one at the top! The _big_ one…” With a bed big enough for anything they could possibly want to do. And a jacuzzi tub that could probably fit ten people. Hmmm. That might be nice. Warm and floaty.

The woman took the card from her, reading the address of the hotel off the back and putting it in her pocket. “We’ve got another two blocks.”

Anders pouted, but the woman grabbed her hand again and started pulling her along, so it wasn’t so bad.

 

Mitchell dragged the woman along. She’d obviously taken something. They _were_ close to her hotel though, and Mitchell could smell her; the life of her. Sweat, cotton, the sharp bite of alcohol, and under it all, the thrumming, siren tang of iron.

They made it to the hotel room. Mitchell wasn’t thinking, she wasn’t planning escape routes, or avoiding cameras. All she could think about was the heat emanating off the body beside her. She used the cardkey to open the door, tugging the woman in behind her.

The woman giggled and Mitchells eyes shifted black. They always seemed to want it in the end. They _did_. And who was she to deny them? All those humans, trying so hard just to _feel_. She grants their wishes. By the time the life has faded from their eyes they have known true feelings. The pure overwhelming knowledge of prey that has been caught. She smiled to herself. It’s always so easy…

The woman said something - maybe said something. Maybe tried to laugh. Mitchell couldn’t tell.

She pulled the woman up closer, leaning down, dragging her tongue along the tendons of her neck. She tasted sweet and metallic. Not quite like the iron that Mitchell was used to. Something softer. Gold, maybe. She took a deep breath. Iron and gold and sweet and salt. The trusting weight in her arms.

 

The body went limp.

 

Mitchell froze.

 

_What had she done._

 

She stared down at the shoulder-length brown hair, and knows the every shade of brown in the closed eyes. Because she killed Lauren. Twice. And now she had again. Because this was what she did. She killed everything she touched. Mitchell choked down a cry and twined her hands into the long red hair of Josie, and all she wanted was for everything to go away. She knew the body in her arms was her last victim. The one she killed in cold blood. The one that made her in the first place. She knew if the corpse were to open it’s eyes, they would be Herricks, dark, cold and soulless.

She knew if she looked in a mirror, she would look the same.

 

_What had she done?_

 

She dropped the body onto the floor. She didn’t hear the thump when it hit the ground or the soft groan that followed. She could only hear the screams of the past.

 

Mitchell was a coward. She did what she had always done: she ran.

 

It is only when she was out of the hotel, far from the lit streets filled with people and heartbeats and everything that she can never have that she stopped. She was shaking, but she’s finally calmed down enough to remember: her life was different now. It’s not just running. She had friends.

She rang the flat.

George picked up. “Mmmn it’s fuckin’ early, what do you want?”

Mitchell had no idea what time it is, but George had clearly been asleep. She didn’t know why she did this. Why she couldn’t just be better. Instead, she called at all hours of the morning. Because she’d failed once again. Because she was a coward.

“George.” She said. Her voice sounded hollow. “I need you to come get me.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this. “Please.”

  
  


The instant that Mitchell spoke, any thoughts of sleep fled from George’s mind. Something wasn’t right. Mitchell wasn’t good at asking for help. She usually went the route of self-sacrifice first. Or she’d already managed to get herself tits deep in trouble. He grabbed the keys to the car, and traded the phone to Annie, who had managed to fill two traveling thermoses with tea during the time that George threw on clothes. She’d stay on the line while he was driving. They both knew better than to let Mitchell go now. (Mitchell was so good at deciding she deserved to fall through the cracks. Neither George or Annie talked about it, but they were both afraid of the day when Mitchell would decide that she was so lost she didn’t deserve to be found anymore. If that day ever came, there would be nothing left that either of them could possibly do.)

It was an hour and ten minutes to drive from Bristol to Cardiff.

George made it there in forty, praying the whole time that he didn’t get pulled over, and flinching at every flash of light. The only parking was a loading zone, there he didn’t want to spend time to find something better. With another fervent wish to any benevolent listener that he not get a ticket, George threw the car into park and grabbed a thermos of tea.

Mitchell was sitting on the edge of an empty pier, staring out at the ocean.

George sat down next to her, as quietly as he could. She was still on her mobile. George could hear the modulated tones of Annie’s voice coming through the line. He nudged Mitchell with his shoulder, but when she turns to look at him, her eyes are black. He handed her the thermos and didn’t say anything.

Mitchell stayed on the phone for a few more minutes, soaking in as much of Annie’s compassion as she could before ringing off. George was there. She didn’t know if he had been working on a project. She didn’t know if he had deadlines coming up. She only knew that she had asked for him, and he had come for him.  Her chest ached at the thought of it. These people, they gave her everything, and all she did was leave messes behind.

She flinched back from memories of the hotel room. The body she’d left there. She tried to remember, but it was the long blonde hair, tangled in leaves and mud and blood who she’d left gored on the forest floor that afternoon. It was jade green eyes of a young boy she’d killed for Herrick. It was the stuttering last breath of everyone she’d ever claimed to love.

“I think there’s a body.” She finally said.

“You think there’s a body?!?” George repeated, voice high and tense, “How can you _think_ there’s a body?”

“I don’t know!” Mitchell shouted back. She stood up from the dock with a huff.

“Is this from the job today?” George asked after a moment, finally able to pull his some of the nerves from his voice.

“No. She’s done. It’ll look like an animal attack. She got in the way of a deer in the wrong season.” Mitchell said.

George filed that away. “Well, that’s good then. So, there’s a different body?”

Mitchell curled in on herself, shoving her hands into her pockets. It was just a blur. There’d been the bar, and a voice, foreign and sweet. Then bloodlust, and...she shuddered.

She still had the keycard in her pocket. God, she’d fucked up. If they had to clean this up...she’d be out of work for a while. She’d walked straight through a hotel lobby. They would have her face on ten different cameras, from every angle. She’d be the number one suspect. She’d also be out of hiding from the vampires of Britain. As soon as her face was all over the newscasts, she’d be pulled back in to the politics.

George watched Mitchell pace for a few moments before he realized that she wasn’t going to answer his question.

“Mitchell?”

She stopped pacing and walked over to him. She had a thin white piece of plastic in her hand. “It’s room 501. The Penthouse suite. Please. Just. Check for me?”

George’s jaw dropped. “The penthouse suite? Did you avoid any cameras at all when you went in there?”

Mitchell didn’t say anything.

“Of course you didn’t. That would have been helpful.” George muttered to himself, as he got to his feet and took the offered card.

Mitchell opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but ended up just shutting her teeth together with a click. She deserved everything that George was going to dish out to her for this. She curled her hands into fists. She deserved everything from anyone. She didn’t have words for lead feeling that had sunk into her. Why couldn’t she just _be better_?

  
  


She sat in the car when George went up the staff elevator. They’d parked around the block. He mostly worked tech, but that meant that he’d picked up on the placement of cameras. He was quite good at avoiding them when he needed to be.

They’d need any edge they could get if she’d made a mess. If they could pass it off as an overdose...things would be better. The police would want to call her in to question why she didn’t call for medical attention, but she probably wouldn’t be pressed if they couldn’t find her. She wouldn’t be wanted for murder. She picked at a thread coming loose on her glove, and tried to not think about anything.

 

George came back; it had only been twenty minutes, but it had felt like hours. He walked casually to the car, opened the door and got in. There was no panic in his movements, no tell-tale twitchiness of things gone wrong. Mitchell could feel tension seeping out of her.

“Did you even bite her? She was fine.” George said, resting a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder, “or. Well. Not fine exactly, but I managed to get her to the toilet when she started to start sick up, so she’ll be alright.”

 

Mitchell wrapped a hand around George’s wrist and gave an appreciative squeeze. It hadn’t turned out as badly as she’d thought. But, she _remembered_ \- it didn’t matter. The woman wasn’t dead. She, she _hadn’t_ , and she could have, and she still smelled blood, and she was so tired.

“Can we go home now?” She finally asked.

George scoffed, “I’m sorry. Did you think we’d be going anywhere else?”

Mitchell managed a weak attempt at a smile, before turning back to stare out the window as George started the car. She hadn’t slipped. It was close- too close- but she’d stayed clean.

She only hoped that next time she would be just as lucky.

  
  


Anders woke up, head pounding and throat burning. She blinked against harsh fluorescent lighting, and with herculean effort lifted her face from the friendly porcelain curve of the toilet seat. She paused for a moment, taking stock to see if it would be worth trying to stand up. Deciding that she would try moving when the world stopped pulsing so much, she lay her head back down. Her spine twinged in protest. Whatever.

She cast her mind back to the night before. She remembered, drinks and dancing, doing lines in the toilet…and had there been a woman? She had flashes of dark curly hair in strobing light of the club. How had she even gotten back? She let out a soft moan. At least Dawn didn’t know about this one. The last thing she wanted right now was another lecture on “the consequences of self-destructive behaviour”. What Dawn didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  
Anders whimpered again and clung to porcelain. She’d be better after a little bit more sleep.


	4. The Fourth Time They Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth time they met, they introduced themselves.
> 
> Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is SO MUCH LESS of a downer, I promise! There's make-outs and everything! ;)
> 
> Not beta'd, so if you catch anything, let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> A Relevant vocabulary note:
> 
> Plisky: 1. (noun) a mischievous trick; practical joke; prank.  
> 2\. (adjective) mischievous; playful.
> 
> The dictionary I have called it Irish slang from the 1800's.
> 
> I'll take it. :D

The fourth time they met...they introduced themselves.

 

Eventually.

 

Anders was bored. The mark was boring. A bad poker player who didn’t know how to pick a table, and didn’t know when to leave the table, and now he was going to die for it. Unfortunately, the best time to kill him would be after the last day of a ten day conference. This was only day three. If it hadn’t been for the paycheck, she would have left two days ago. There weren’t even any good drugs happening. What kind of a self-respecting business conference didn’t have at least a little bit of coke stashed away? So, Anders was forced to wear strappy-yet-sensible low-heeled black shoes and a pencil skirt, and pretend to care at all about the endless powerpoint presentations droning on in over-air conditioned meeting halls. The only thing interesting about this conference was the beautiful brunette woman she kept seeing in the corners.

The woman, though. She almost looked familiar, but Anders put that thought away as a bad job. It was a requirement for her line of work to have a good head for faces, but it was inevitable to eventually come across people who spark the mind as familiar. Humans like to think they’re special, but they all look the same. Cut ‘em and they bleed. Even so, Anders couldn’t help but be intrigued.

She had mentally named the woman Xena, because she was tall, so tall. It had taken two days for Anders to finally admit that Xena was truly just wearing flats and not somehow wearing shoes with lifts in them. Not nearly as curvy as what Anders usually went for, but enough for her clothes to drape with an enticingly feminine softness. Or maybe Xena was just good at clothes. Today, the woman was in a dusty mauve sheath dress that somehow managed to look flirty. Anders was absolutely baffled by this. It should be impossible to make mauve look flirty. It was clearly worth pursuing. At least a little bit.

  


Mitchell was there for an extraction. A former analyst for the Russian mob had gone on to start an incredibly lucrative new investment software. Unfortunately, her replacement was found to be less competent than necessary, and the mob wanted her returned. She was also one of the key presenters at the finance conference. Mitchell would be able to meet the target, assess the situation and then plan the most expedient way to reunite the mob with their preferred specialist.

It was a long conference, and it was mostly focused on the cutting edge of new technology within the financial market. Mitchell wasn’t interested in learning the algorithms of stock markets. She’d seen them fall before, and she’d see them fall again. She had her job, she was good at it, and it allowed her to have enough passports that it didn’t matter if the pictures had been taken thirty years ago and she looked exactly the same.

Mitchell was distracted. She’d been doing her best to fit in, make the small talk, sliding through conversations enough that people wouldn’t notice her as a wallflower, but not being so talkative as to be particularly memorable. Mostly she was smiling, nodding, and rephrasing what other people had said. It was hard to be focused when her eyes kept drifting to the blonde woman she kept seeing. It may have been wishful thinking, but it often looked like she was as bored as Mitchell herself was.

Mitchell hadn’t slept with anyone since battery-powered options first became available to the casual market. There had been too many incidents, too many “accidents” that weren’t accidents at all. It was better for her to just stay away from any physical relationship that may involve feelings. The blonde woman was plisky. Mitchell was going to ignore her.

Plisky had avoided the apparent standard haircut at the conference of “sensible bob” and instead sported a pixie cut that showed off the highlights of her golden hair. Today, she was in a charcoal pencil skirt, low, black heels and a sky blue blouse that held a silvery sheen to it and made her blue eyes look luminous. Mitchell had only seen the only seen the woman smile once, but it had been a moment of pink lips and flashing white teeth and dimples that had made her ache. Mitchell was trying to avoid her as subtly as possible. She thought she was most likely failing.

  


There were two days left in the conference when Anders finally got her chance. There was “Evening Cocktail Hour”, which was apparently boring-as Conference Speak for “Shit Cover Band and Shittier-Yet-Free-Booze”. So, naturally virtually everyone attending the conference was there. Including Xena. Who was sitting at a table all by herself. Without a drink. Anders smiled. Perfect. Her first stop was to the obligatory table set up full of friendly stickers and array of vibrant, yet still business-appropriate colours of felt-tipped markers. She scrawled her name on one, and placed it so that her name was under the fall of her jacket, but the white corner of the sticker was obvious against the colour of her shirt. Then, she made her way to the bar set up in the back of the room.. She grabbed two glasses of red wine - she’d sampled all of the beverages being offered that night, and the red wine was definitely closest to passing for actually palatable - and walked over to the table. She set one of the glasses in front of Xena, who looked up warily.

“Hi,” Anders said, “I noticed you didn’t have a drink.”

A dark eyebrow raised, but Anders got no response.

“You’re hot.”

“You’re forward.” Xena said.

“I don’t see the point in small talk when I know what I want.”

“And what would that be?”

Anders glared at her for a moment, before pointing to the dance floor that was slowly filling up with people who had gotten used to moving in suits as they awkwardly tried to remember how dance in their Casual-Friday attire. Men seemed to be dressed in a horrifying clash of hawaiian print shirts and women used to skirts and slacks were reacquainting themselves with constricting denim. “I want to get out of here before the band decides everyone is drunk enough to start singing along with Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“And that plan somehow involves bringing me wine?”

“The way I see it, you’re the only thing around here worth doing.” Anders said simply.

 

Mitchell stared at the woman in front of her. Damn her! After managing to successfully avoid Plisky for days, there she was, with wine, and that smile, and those eyes, and the bluntest pick-up lines that Mitchell had ever heard. She was funny and Mitchell knew she shouldn’t even be thinking about it. She should be saying no, and giving Plisky back the wine glass and going up to her room.

But… but her target had actually admitted to being less than enthused with software programming and actually wanted to go back to her old position. Mitchell’s job was essentially done. It hardly even counted as an extraction. She’d booked them a private jet, and cleared the airline staff with mob security, and at that point was just waiting for the conference to end already so she could collect her paycheck.

Mitchell was bored, and tired, and, if she was willing to be honest with herself, she was lonely. She was making bad decisions, and she knew it, but faced with Plisky - this bizarre, blunt, beautiful woman who smelled like early mornings in the summer - she stopped thinking about should. She picked up her wine glass and raised it, as if to toast the deities of recklessness. “If you can get us a bottle of this to go, you might be able to convince me to come with you.”

Plisky smiled again. Fuck, but she was gorgeous when she smiled.

“Only one? That’s hardly even a challenge.” One dimple deepened into a smirk. She set her wine glass on the table, “Wait right here,” Plisky said, before turning and heading back to the table where the bar was set up.

Mitchell knew she was sunk when she couldn’t tear her eyes away from sway of hips as Plisky walked away.

She knew there would be no survivors when Plisky left the bar holding two unopened bottles in each hand, smiling like mischief and sunlight.

  


Anders knew it was going to be a good night when she turned around from the bar, having secured four bottles of wine (they could order more from room service later, but it was a decent start). She took about five steps back to the table, but Xena stood up, drained her wine glass in a few easy gulps and then walked over to meet her.

“That was very well done.” Xena said, gesturing to the bottles of wine, “I’m impressed.”

“This is nothing compared to what else I can do.” Ander said, finishing her words and then letting her tongue curl lasciviously around her teeth in a blatant show of intent.

Xena stepped in close, leaning forward until there was not even the breadth of a finger separating them, but they didn’t touch, “Is that so?”

“Is that another challenge?” Anders asked, staring at the sparkling brown eyes so very close to her own.

Instead of answering Xena just backed away, a bottle in each hand, never breaking eye contact.

Anders smiled. The mind-numbing conference was almost over, Anders would finally be able to off her mark and complete her fucking contract, and best of all, she’d actually get to do something fun that night. There was nothing better than a good fuck to pass the time if she had to wait for a paycheck. “I’m on floor six. Please tell me you’re closer.”

Xena’s smile was like temptation incarnate, wider than anything, sweeter than sugar but lined with something predacious.

“I’m in 304.” She said, then with a wink, she turned and bolted for the door.

 

Anders grinned, and chased after her. She had a feeling it was going to be a very fun night indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter has become a terrifying beast. I don't know what happened. It's become it's own murder-mystery. It might be a while. :P
> 
> (Or become many more than one chapter.)  
> (Or cause the entire thing to be overhauled and just become a separate fic, freaking hell...)


	5. The Fifth Time They Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fifth time they met... something had to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always welcome!

The fifth time they met… _ Something  _ had to give.

  
  
  


Blocked jobs weren’t something that Mitchell enjoyed- no one in their little office did - but it was probably better for everyone in the long run. Creatures who weren’t quite human, sometimes attracted the wrong sort of attention. Humans would figure out that there was something a little bit off, and decide that the best answer was to get rid of the potential threat. 

It was a delicate line to walk. Mitchell couldn’t take too many jobs that she couldn’t complete, or she’d lost her reputation. She also couldn’t get caught actively sabotaging a job that she’d turned down.

Blocked jobs were stealth missions but also charity cases, focusing on gathering information, approaching the Supernatural (if it turned out they were, in fact, not human) and then attempting to relocate them as discreetly as possible to a better location. Blocked jobs were the hardest - incredibly stressful professionally, but also the most important to get right - blocked jobs were how Mitchell had found both Annie and George.

It took her only ten minutes to get to the house. Annie was there waiting with several folders spread across their tiny kitchen table. 

“What’s the job?” Mitchell asked, hanging her coat on the back of her chair and sitting down.

Annie immediately handed her a mug of tea, and then turned back to the files she printed out.

“There’s a number on this guy,” she said, pointing to a black-and-white photo. It was of a tall, thin man with pale skin and short-cropped dark hair jogging down a street, “But when I called around, he doesn’t seem to actually exist.”

“What?”

“Nobody remembers him. At all. He’s got photos in yearbooks, he shows up in newspapers, but nobody remembers him at all. I thought maybe it sounded like a curse?”

“I’ve never seen anything that could do that before.” Mitchell said slowly. Magic was dangerous, and a curse strong enough to make someone become utterly forgotten...that came from a very powerful place.

“I haven’t either,” Annie said, “and nothing I’ve found so far would explain what’s going on. But I thought, our best suspect is the person funding. Curse everyone to forget, and then put out a hit.”

Mitchell sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It did make sense. “Alright. I’ll have to go check it out either way. When’s the flight?”

Annie gave a soft smile at Mitchell’s resigned weariness. No matter how bad it would be, Mitchell would never not try. It was part of her beauty. “You’re going to Auckland. I got you on a flight out in the morning.” She grabbed another folder, “Here’s what we know so far. His name is Tyrone Johnson.”

 

*    *    *    *

  
  


The adrenaline was rushing through her veins, and Anders was surfing on it. Everything was sharp and clear. She was balancing on razorwire, and she was not allowed to fall, because if anything went wrong, it was Ty who would end up paying the price.

She’d been on the mission for Elizabet. Off in the fucking wastelands of some good for nothing quest, to find some dumb stick with apparent magical powers. When she’d gotten back into the range of cell service, Dawn had left her sixty three voice mails of increasing urgency.

Ty had been forced into marriage. Something had gone wrong. Dawn had been trying to get Anders to come back to attempt some kind of intervention,and then it had all gone wrong. Ty’s wife Eva had been killed, Ty had wound up in the hospital, and someone had put a price on Ty’s head. 

Fifteen million dollars.

Fifteen million dollars to kill her little brother.

 

Dawn had booked her a private flight straight from Sweden to Auckland, stopping only in dubai to refuel and switch pilots. Anders sat alone in the plane, holding the branch of yggdrasil, and fantasizing of all the ways that she was going to take make Elizabet pay the second after Ty was safe.

Dawn had been waiting for her on the tarmac when the plane had touched the ground, filling her in on as much as they knew. There had been an attempt on Ty’s life three days earlier, and he’d been saved by an unknown woman. He’d been off the grid ever since.

Unfortunately for whoever the mystery woman was, they weren’t going to stay hidden much longer. Anders had a secret weapon. It didn’t matter how much Anders had fucked up any chance she’d ever had at a good relationship with her family. It didn’t matter how good this woman was at making people disappear. 

No one could stay hidden from Mike.

  
  


*    *    *    *

 

Mitchell was not happy about camping out in a bar. There weren’t too many windows, and Ty was more than willing to take her direction to sit in the corner where she could easily cover him if someone were to walk in. It was less helpful that the bar belonged to Ty’s oldest brother, Mikkel. Family was always the first place anyone looked. There was nothing to be done for it though, as no matter how secure Annie could make a safehouse, Mike seemed to always know where they were.

The frustration didn’t ease when it came to whatever secret the entire family was apparently dancing around. Mitchell knew they weren’t quite human; it was the entire reason she’d flown down to look into the case. Whatever it was, no one seemed interested in telling, and Mitchell was becoming equally sure that she didn’t want to be involved. Unfortunately, it was also painfully obvious that whatever secret the Johnson family was keeping, it was inextricably tied up with why Ty had spent the last week running for his life.

‘You really don’t  have to be here.’ Ty said, trotting out the same line he’d been using since Mitchell had found him.

‘I don’t have to be here, but at this point I’m a bit invested in you not being dead, and I’d like to keep you not being dead, and you don’t seem to be terribly good at that when I leave you alone, do you.’

Ty’s mouth pinched, and he raised his eyebrows, before nodding to concede the point.

‘I have been here for five days, Ty.’ Mitchell said, clearly exasperated. ‘You were nearly killed by a sniper, your car was set up release enough carbon monoxide to take out an elephant. Your flat was rigged, your ice studio was sabotaged, and your brother broke into  _ four _ of my safe houses.’

Ty winced as she rattled off the list. ‘Would it  help if I told you that Mike would have been able to break into any safehouse? I’m sure yours were very good.’

Mitchell glared.

‘Right.’ Ty said awkwardly, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘Guess not.’ He paused for a moment before flagging down his cousin, Olaf.

‘You look like you need a drink?’ Olaf said.

‘ _ Yes _ .’ Ty said.

Mitchell frowned but didn’t stop him. Her job was to stay sharp. If drinking was going to help Ty cope, she was hardly going to kick up a fuss.

Olaf had just sat down at the table, bringing with him two glasses and a nearly full bottle of vodka. He poured two generous portions before lifting one up. ‘Skål!’

‘Skål.’ Ty said, with significantly less enthusiasm. He picked up his glass and touched it to Olaf’s anyway, before putting it to his mouth and draining it.

 

‘MIKKEL!’ There was a pounding on the door.. 

Mitchell reacted without thinking. She grabbed Ty and Olaf, pulled them down onto the floor and tipped the table over to act as cover. ‘Stay here!’ she hissed, before sliding to the edge of the table to peek out and take in what had happened.

‘MIKKEL!!!’ The door crashed open, banging against the wall and a woman ran through the doorway bellowing. Mitchell distantly noted that it was a rather impressive amount of noise for a single person to be able to make. 

Unfortunately, the screaming stopped nearly as soon as the woman had entered the bar. There was a long moment of silence, where the woman had apparently stopped moving and stopped yelling. Dread started to seep into Mitchell. She had known that the bar wasn’t going to be enough to keep them safe. Whoever had entered clearly knew who they were looking for.

She crept forward, drawing her gun. She braced herself on one knee and took aim. She wasn’t going to shoot until she knew the woman was a threat, but she was hardly going to throw away a tactical advantage when it was given to her. ‘What do you want?’ Mitchell finally called out, when the woman had been silent for nearly an entire minute.

‘Get the fuck away from my family.’ The voice cut through the air of the bar. It was eerie and familiar. More than human, not quite compulsive and deeply unsettling. It was like stepping into a bathtub only to be met with oil instead of water. Mitchell bristled and took aim towards the corner where the voice was coming from.

‘Wait!’ Ty shouted, grabbing at Mitchell’s elbow. Ty turned to Olaf. ‘That sounds like Anders?’

Olaf’s mouth dropped open. ‘Fuck.’ He said, before turning and looking over the table. 

‘Get down!’ Mitchell snapped.

‘Olaf?’ The woman stared, stepping forward.

Olaf stood up. ‘When did you get here?’

Ty stood as well.

‘Ty! Are you alright?!?’

Mitchell growled. She still didn’t have a clear shot at whoever had come in, she didn’t know what was going on, and she didn’t like it.

‘Yeah, Anders, I’m fine. What are you doing here?’

That was when it clicked. The oil feeling turned to ice in Mitchell’s spine. She’d lived a long time and met a lot of people. She’d only ever met one woman named Anders. Mitchell flicked the safety of her gun on, then stood slowly behind the table. ‘Please tell me we haven’t met before.’ She said, though she already knew what the answer would be.

‘Xena? What the fuck are you doing here?’

Mitchell winced then shook her head.. ‘I think I could ask you the same thing.’

 

Suddenly everything both more and less complicated than either of them had ever imagined.

 

‘Wait.’ Ty said, ‘How do you two know each other?’

‘Work.’ Anders said quickly. 

Ty turned to stare at Mitchell, then sent a long look to Anders.

‘You’re the sister?’ Mitchell asked, still not quite believing what had happened.

Steel snapped back into Anders at that comment, and her gun came up to aim for Mitchell. ‘Damn right I’m the sister, and if you think I’m gonna let anything happen-’

‘No no! wait!-’

‘Anders, she’s not-’

Ty and Olaf starting talking over each other, vouching for Mitchell’s good intentions.

‘She’s the one who’s been keeping me safe!’ Ty finally managed to get out.

Anders didn’t look convinced, but she lowered her gun. ‘Has she now?’

‘Apparently I’m best suited to sitting here making sure everyone is safe while Mike goes to find whoever put the hit out?’ Mitchell couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

‘Oh.’ Anders said. ‘Yeah, actually, that sounds about right.’

Anger flared, ‘Well then, now that you’re here, I suppose I can just fuck right off then!’ Mitchell’s outburst rang through the otherwise empty bar.

‘Uh…’ Ty said, sending a worried look between the two women.

‘I think you’ll find your sister is very well versed in  _ private protection. _ ’ Acid was dripping from her voice, and Mitchell was never going to think about why.

‘I’d be quite happy for you to stick around for a while.’ Olaf said.

‘Nope! No!’ Anders blanched. ‘Strictly off-limits, Grandpa.’ She perhorresced at the thought. ‘Oh god.  _ So _ off limits.’

Olaf glanced at Anders and then looked at Mitchell. ‘Really? She’s not your usual-’

Mitchell paused suddenly, listening past the conversations. It took less than a moment to recognize the rhythmic pounding of running steps on the footpath. She leapt over the table and ran to crouch by the bar, giving herself an unimpeded view of the entrance. The tall, lanky figure of the youngest Johnson boy appeared in the doorway.

‘Ty! Olaf!!’ he shouted

‘Axl?’

‘ _ Anders? _ ’

A shorter, mop-headed boy looked at everyone, then pointed to himself and confidently shouted ‘Zeb!’ then he paused and pointed at Mitchell, who was still crouched at the edge of the bar. ‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s Mitchell.’ Anders said.

‘And how do you two know each other?’ He asked, cocking his head.

‘Carnally.’ Anders said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘It’s the only way to know anyone.’

 

Mitchell lowered her gun and closed her eyes. She was never taking a job in New Zealand ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC IS FINALLY FINISHED! 
> 
> It only took...more than a year?
> 
> There are still huge plans for this 'verse though, so if you like, FEAR NOT! There is more to come! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be funny, and then it turned into a whole heap of feelings about womanhood and female identity and stuff.
> 
> I've started a writing blog [on tumblr!](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) If you ever want to say hello, leave a prompt, ask a question or just talk. :D


End file.
